


Disheveled

by aunt_zelda



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Fear, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Shame, Threats, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/pseuds/aunt_zelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is spying in Wesley's office, and ends up accidentally hearing Wesley masturbating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disheveled

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of my fill for this prompt at the kink meme: https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=5761736#cmt5761736
> 
>  
> 
> While there are no explicit threats in this fic, and Wesley enjoys himself, it's certainly a questionable situation. Readers with triggers related to forced exhibitionism should proceed with caution. 
> 
> If I have left off any tags or triggers please do not hesitate to let me know and I will edit them accordingly.

Matt heard him approaching long before the door handle clicked. He was able to hide himself in a nook between filing cabinets before Wesley entered the office. 

Really, Matt should probably have made a break for it, but for all he knew Wesley would be in and out in moments, and Matt could continue seeking the information he needed. If he were discovered, Matt could knock the man over and escape before any alarms were sounded. 

Wesley sat down behind his desk, barely ten feet away from Matt’s current location. He powered up his laptop and began typing. 

Matt bit back a sigh of frustration. He could very well be hidden here all day, if Wesley was getting work done. Maybe he should have jumped out the window after all. 

Wesley abruptly closed his laptop. Matt eagerly waited for the sounds of Wesley leaving the office.

Instead, he heard the sound of a zipper being undone. 

Matt felt a blush creep across his face. This was not exactly an unusual occurrence, with his abilities he heard plenty of things he wished he hadn’t – and some he had taken guilty pleasure in overhearing – and considering the number of people in New York City, he heard it quite a lot. The sounds of flesh on flesh were among many of the cacophony of life in a city. They shouldn’t have bothered him anymore, he should have been numbed to their effects, the mortification of overhearing someone’s most intimate moments. 

But, for one reason or another – the Catholicism, Matt suspected – they still elicited the same childish spike of shame inside of him. He wasn’t supposed to listen to people doing things like that. He wasn’t supposed to feel a flush of pleasure in response to their sounds. 

Wesley was caressing himself, running his fingers over the fabric of his pants, up underneath his shirt. His pulse was quickening, his breathing was becoming more erratic, more audible. 

Matt found himself wondering if Wesley was always like this, whether he always took his time, or if this occasion was somehow special. He squashed the thought quickly, not wanting to dwell on such matters any more than he already had to. 

Wesley made a satisfied sound, not quite a moan, and unbuttoned the lower half of his shirt. He loosened his tie one-handed, slid his other hand down his belly to cup at his balls. 

He hadn’t touched his dick yet at all, Matt realized. Matt wished he didn’t know that, wished he’d jumped out the window before Wesley arrived. 

The underwear Wesley wore was silk, starting to grow damp with precome. Matt could smell that, felt his own cock twitch in sympathy at how Wesley was somehow managing to neglect himself. Horror washed over Matt, a sickening feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He was not going to enjoy this, that would truly be shameful. 

Wesley’s breath hitched, and he wrapped one hand around his erection. His non-dominant hand, Matt noted, trying desperately to focus on something besides what he was being forced to listen to. 

There were more sounds now, labored breathing and the slick sound of Wesley’s fingers sliding over his cock again and again. Wesley groaned, his breathing replaced with strained gasps as his strokes slowed in speed and lessened in pressure. He was slowing down, trying to hold off, prolong his enjoyment. 

Wesley was a dignified man. He way he bore himself in daily life, the way he spoke, his mannerisms. The way he smelled, clean and expensive but not overbearingly so. His clothes, expertly tailored and never out of place. Matt had been able to sense all of that about the man, during their various encounters. 

And there he was, not ten feet away, becoming steadily more and more disheveled. 

Matt thought of Wesley’s hair tousling, from the sweat he could smell, could practically taste from this close. Matt thought of Wesley’s steady posture slumping, his suit wrinkling. He thought of all that skin exposed, with Wesley’s shirt opened up and his pants inched down over his thighs. 

And all of the sudden, it was simply too much to bear. 

Matt walked up behind Wesley, reached down, and gripped the man’s shoulder, just where the collar of his shirt ended. “Put your hands on the desk.”

Wesley froze. His heart rate spiked, he shifted slightly, tensing, preparing to – 

Matt moved his grip from the shoulder to the throat, and put his other hand on the side of Wesley’s head. With enough force, enough pressure, he could snap the man’s neck easily from this position. He wouldn’t, but it was an effective threat. 

Wesley slumped, ever so slightly. He slid his hands onto the desk, shaking, still hard, terror and arousal and anger making his pulse race faster. 

Matt could hear it, feel it underneath his fingers. 

Carefully, he undid Wesley’s tie, one handed, keeping a grip on Wesley’s throat. This action brought another surge of fear to Wesley. He tried to stand, to wrench free of Matt’s grasp. 

Matt wrapped an arm around Wesley’s neck and squeezed just enough to be painful. He felt the fight go out of Wesley and let him go, let him slump back into his chair. 

“I’m not going to kill you.” Matt promised.

Wesley huffed a laugh, just shy of panic now. “And the Devil keeps his word?”

Matt ignored that. “Give me your right hand.”

Wesley did, shaking, no doubt imagining that it would be broken.

Matt looped the tie around it, binding Wesley’s right wrist to the arm of his chair. 

Wesley moaned, then froze, face burning with shame, burning hot enough that Matt, so close, reeled from the heat.

Matt had intended to leave. That had been his aim, when he had left his hiding place. Now, though … 

He stroked his fingers along Wesley’s bound wrist, waiting, listening.

Wesley gasped and squirmed in place before turning his head away from his arm, away from Matt. 

Matt withdrew his hand. He felt he was balancing on a knife’s edge, suspected that even speaking might shatter the moment. 

Wesley was panting again, his erection hadn’t flagged at all during this altercation. “Please …” he whispered. “Please …” he shook his head. 

Matt leaned down, breath ghosting over Wesley’s ear. He took a risk. “Continue.”

Wesley let out a choked whimper of a sound. “Fuck you,” he gasped, before reaching down and resuming his strokes. “Fuck you,” he growled, his words trailing off into a moan as he sped up and pressed harder. 

Matt just listened. Being closer, the scents and sounds were almost overwhelming. The tang in the air of Wesley’s sweat and precome, his labored gasps of breath, the wet sounds as he crept closer and closer to the brink.

Was it that Wesley enjoyed an audience? Was it the fear at the threat of violence? Had it been the feel of hands on him – so readily able to do him harm?

Or was it, perhaps, Matt himself? Was Wesley excited by the close proximity and observation of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?

Matt wanted, desperately, to ask. But he also knew that asking would ruin this, whatever it was. 

He also knew that acknowledging the arousal thrumming through his own body would ruin everything too. 

“Oh … oh … god …” Wesley groaned. He was close, his pulse was racing madly, his heartbeat was almost deafening to Matt’s ears. 

Matt wanted to touch him. Wanted to yank Wesley’s tousled hair, press his lips to Wesley’s gasping mouth, sink his teeth into the crook of Wesley’s neck.

Instead, he stayed stock still as Wesley came, listening to every sound. 

Wesley hissed through his teeth like he was in pain, and exhaled long and low, deeper than his previous moans. He wiped his hand on his belly lazily, chest heaving. Wesley slumped further down in the chair, heartbeat pounding, sweat cooling on his skin. 

“Do you want me to … take care of you?” disgust dripped from every syllable.

Matt flinched away. “No. I … no.” He didn’t want that, he didn’t want Wesley to think he was being threatened into any action. 

“Then go.” Wesley straightened up. “Unless your goal was to humiliate me before killing me?”

“No,” Matt backed towards the window. He shouldn’t have done that, any of it. He shouldn’t have emerged from his hiding place. 

Matt climbed out the window, trying to forget all that he had witnessed, and knowing that he never would.


End file.
